How To Find A Fortune
by Jak Sandrow
Summary: When Henry 'Hiccup' Drake finally manages to get around to finding his ancestor's grave, things get dicey really quick. Thankfully, he has Astrid Fisherson and Gerard Sullivan to help him out. Rated M; all the dialogue has (for the most part) been preserved.


_There must be a beginning of any great _

_matter, but the continuing unto the end _

_until it be thoroughly finished yields _

_the true glory._

Sir Francis Drake, 1587

* * *

A coffin, long forgotten from even the depths of the ocean and the memories of man, slowly rose to the surface, was hoisted onto a deck, and became the newest point of attention for one Astrid Fischerson.

"I am here off the coast of Panama," she was saying into her camcorder, "where we just recovered what we believe to be the coffin of legendary explorer Sir Francis Drake, who was buried at sea over 400 years ago."

_Clank!_ A crowbar entered the viewfeed, along with its owner, who was obviously trying to pry the coffin open. Camera momentarily forgotten, she asked, "Are you sure you want to be defiling your ancestor's remains like that?"

"You make it sound so dirty!" the crowbar user grinned, chuckling. "Besides, thought you didn't believe me."

"Well," she returned, "I did do my research, and _apparently_ Francis Drake didn't have any children."

"Well history can be wrong, you know," he shot back with a smile. Finally done wedging the top up a bit, he set the crowbar down. "For example," he said, putting his hands on the rim, "you can't defile an empty coffin." Grunting, he put his hands on the rim left from the metal coffin's lid, and _heaved._ The lid fell off with a resounding clang, revealing… _nothing._

"What the hell?" Astrid burst out, incredulous. But the other person was no longer interested in the coffin lid; instead, he rummaged around till he found a steel box. Flipping the latch and opening the lid, he pulled out a small booklet. Ruffling through the pages, he began to grin to himself, laughing quietly. "…ha, ha, ha, you _devil_."

"What is it?" Astrid was intrigued. "C'mon, hold it up."

"Oh, no, no no, no way," he said, covering the camera quickly. "The deal was for a coffin. That's it."

"Wait a minute; if my show hadn't funded this expedition -"

"Hey, hey, you got your story, lady!"

Now she was indignant. "Look, Mr. Drake, you signed a contract." He chuckled, but she pressed on. "I have a right to see every -"

"Oh, whoa, whoa, could you…" Something in his voice told her to shut up. "…hold that thought?"

Moving quickly over to the bridge, he picked up a walkie-talkie. "Sulley? We got some trouble. Hurry it up."

"Okay, okay," Astrid was confused. "What's going on?"

"Uhh…" Drake was sheepish. "Pirates."

"Pirates!?"

"Yeah, the modern kind." He hefted a box, marked _H. Drake_, onto a nearby crate. Opening the container, he pulled out a gun. "They don't take prisoners." Looking at Astrid again, he rephrased, "At least, not… male… prisoners…"

"Wait what are you talking about -" Her breath caught in her throat as she looked to port to see at least four boats heading steadily towards them. "Uhh… shouldn't we call the authorities or something?"

"Yeah, that'd be a great idea, but, we don't exactly have a, heh, permit to be here…" he explained, a little embarrassed.

"What." Now Astrid was ticked. Before she was mad, but _now_…

"Yeah, so unless you want to end up in a Panamanian jail… we should probably handle this ourselves."

Gesturing rapidly, she attempted to make light of the situation. "What's worse?"

He looked at her blandly. "You've obviously haven't been in a Panamanian jail." Holding a gun in front of himself, he asked, "Do you know how to use one of these?" He flipped the handle towards her.

"Uh, _yeah_, it's like a camera, you just… point and shoot, right?"

"Good girl!" He didn't mean that condescendingly at _all_. Grabbing a gun of his own, he shot her a grin. "Here we go!"

* * *

Two people vs. a mini-fleet was hardly fair, but somehow they managed. Drake had to give Astrid credit, she knew what she was doing. After getting the hang of the weapon, she must have killed as many as he did… though, not directly. She would shoot out the fuel barrels on the boats, forcing them to either turn back or explode.

It was going well until one pirate pulled out an RPG. After that, it was chaos.

"What's that?" Astrid called out, hearing an approaching roar.

Drake pumped the air. "Alright, Sulley!"

A pontoon plane roared overhead, almost tipping one of the pirate boats over into the water. Unfortunately that was when things started getting very bad.

As the portholes blew, Drake swore. "The whole ship's gonna blow. We gotta jump!" he called to Astrid. She followed him, but skidded to a halt.

"Oh wait!"

"What are you doing?" he cried.

Grabbing her camera, she raced back to him. "Okay!"

"C'mon!" he yelled, gesturing over the side. "Jump!"

She did, cradling the (thankfully) waterproof camera with her.

Just as they hit the water, the ship, predictably enough, blew to smithereens.

* * *

They swam to where the reddish boat-plane had landed in the water.

Drake surfaced with a gasp, cleaning the soot from his lungs with a few coughs. Hearing the sound of a door being opened, he swam over to where the plane door was opening.

"Ha!" called an older, graying man from inside. He was grinning around the cigar well-lodged in his mouth. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

"Well, I had everything under control until they blew up the boat!" he retorted, grinning. He turned to where Astrid was paddling towards him, camera held safely above the water so she wouldn't accidentally let go. "You alright?"

"Nothing a few years of therapy won't fix," she grinned, handing the camera off to the plane's pilot. Clambering up the temporary boarding ladder he had set up in the doorway, she took his hand and let him pull her into the boat.

He greeted her with a, "Well, if it isn't the beautiful and talented Astrid Fischerson."

"Flattery _will_ get you screen-time," she grinned, and he introduced himself.

"Eh, I'm more of a behind-the-scenes kinda guy. Gerard Sullivan." He kissed her hand grandiosely and escorted her to the passenger's seat, right behind the cabin.

"Ah, for Christ's sakes," Drake said, clambering up unassisted. "Well, what do you say we get out of here," he closed one door, "before we attract," he closed the other door, "any more attention?" He shrugged out of his harness, and they took off.

* * *

"Well?" Sullivan asked, once they were up and long away.

"Little present from Sir Francis," said Drake, now the co-pilot, holding up the booklet.

"Ho, ho, so ya found the coffin!" Sullivan exclaimed, taking the book with one hand, the other still on the yoke. "Wait a minute…" He looked closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Ha, ha, Drake's lost diary. He faked his death, just like I said, Sulley." The older man gave him a wry grin. "He must have been on to something big."

"Yeah, well," Sulley cautioned, "let's just keep that between us."

Astrid piped up from the backseat. "Thanks for the loan, Mr. Drake," she said, offering the gun back to its owner. "I think I've earned a look at that diary when we land." She sat back, enjoying the ride again.

Sulley looked over at Drake with a questioning gaze, but he just shrugged in response.

* * *

**Don't worry, the _real _crossover will begin soon. This is pretty much just the first 10 minutes of gameplay, after all... C:**


End file.
